The Slytherins the butlers
by Wormtail96
Summary: Due to a gamble that went south, our favourite group of Slytherin neerdowells and miscreants land themselves as the butlers for Gryffindor house for a day. Beware: hijinks WILL ensue.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N) Hello, I'm Wormtail96. I've been on this site for about five or so years now and wouldn't you believe, despite my name, I have never posted a Harry Potter fanfiction. Well, now is better than never, eh? This is going to be a short humerous story that will probably take a few chapters. So enjoy.**

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**The Slytherins the butlers**

Rhys Ieuan Jones was a Slytherin student at Hogwarts, a pale lump of a lad from the North-West of Wales. His eyes were two large grey misty orbs were circled with hundreds of black rings, signifying a lack of sleep and his large bulbous nose reddened at the tip, like he desperately needed a tissue. In fact, his whole appearance had a quite ill impression, as if the slightest touch of him would leave you bed-ridden for a year. His short hair was of mousy brown and the bristles growing around his face made it look like it had been a long time since he last had a shave.

Rhys Jones was of a wizard family of supposed _absolute_ pure-blood, for which he said he thanked the great good Lord for every day and boasted he could trace his _pure_ family tree all the way back to medieval Wales. His father had himself a comfortable position at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, aiming to one day become its Head and his mother was a shrewd and successful businesswomen; a self-made witch who started with nothing but had now acquired herself a handsome sum of wealth. These traits they passed down to their son and it showed well. Throughout his education at Hogwarts, Rhys had developed a reputation for himself for being a straight up trader, selling or swapping anything a student at the school needed (making him quite the business rival of Fred and George Weasley even) and also a runner of many school underground gambling events. It was both "extra-curricular activities" as he called them that had made himself a unique pile of his own independent wealth, though he mostly drank up the gold-galleons he achieved in butter bear. He kind of got hooked on it in his Third Year.

However, Rhys did have a weakness that more often or not, seemed to land him in a spot of trouble or two; he was a risk-taker. That was not an uncommon trait in some people, but for Rhys, the aftermath of such risks gone bad seemed to hang over him like flies on a mule. There is one example that, to put in nicely, that makes quite the humorous story…

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In was on a chilly morning in the Scottish castle which was used for the Wizarding School. Rhys Ieuan Jones was sitting down at the table in the Great Hall, facing opposite a one Ron Weasley of Gryffindor House, playing a few matches of wizard's chess and putting a few items up for gamble.

Now I am sure it surprises many of you to think of a Slytherin and a Gryffindor sitting down and playing a game on friendly terms, or even talking to each other relatively politely. Well, the thing is, whilst their houses were what set them against each other, there were the occasional handful of students of Slytherin and Gryffindor who actually were civil to each other, as opposed to hating each other by the crests on their robes even if they had never met before. Ron and Rhys were a good example of this. No, they were not friends, but they were happy to play a few rounds once in a while.

"Checkmate. I win." Rhys declared in his thick and heavy Welsh accent as his small red bishop knocked out Ron's small white king and dragged it off the chessboard.

"Damn it, Rhys, how the Hell do you do it?" The flabbergasted Ron asked, handing over his rare _Famous Witch and Wizard_ card to him.

Rhys took the card and tossed it onto his small pile on his side of the table. "I practice a lot with my sister back at home." He ran his large grasping fingers over the smooth surface of the cards, before swiftly brushing his spoils into the inner breast pocket of his Slytherin robes that were tightfitting on his lumpish body. "You could say I'm a champion at this." After dusting his hands, he picked up a cup of pumpkin juice and drank from it. "So…do you want another match, Ronald? You know I'm game."

Ron slumped and rested his elbows on the table. "Well, yeah, I would, but I've got nothing left to wager. You got the last of my cards! And you know the rules – you can't put up what you've just won." He took a slice of buttered toast and bit into it bitterly.

"Hmmm…" The Slytherin boy rubbed his bristled chin in deep thought. It was still early morning and he was still in the mood for another match or two. He began to ponder silently as he slurped down more of his pumpkin juice; perhaps he could put something up that was a little less…material? The idea slowly began to formulate itself in his mind whilst he silently reassured himself that he would not fail. Besides, he would never turn down the thrill of putting something actually very valuable for stakes, only to win it. "Hey, Ronald, tell ya what…"

"What?"

"I've just thought up something that perhaps you and I could wager." Rhys explained, a sly Cheshire cat creeping up on his hairy face. "No cards, no beans, something like, I dunno, a _guarantee."_

Looking interested, Ron set down his toast and gave his fellow student a raised eyebrow. "A guarantee sound good, but it depends on what you're talking about. It's gotta be something worth playing for."

He set his cup down and told the red headed boy, talking with his hands like some sort of mob boss, "It's like this, Ronny boy; it doesn't take a First Year to know what a mess both your and my house common rooms get within three days of them being cleaned up. So what I am proposing is that we make a deal…" He gave a pause for deliberate dramatic effect before delivering the juicy party. "…in which the loser of the next chess match has got to be a butler for the winner and his whole house for an entire day! How does THAT sound?"

Now Ron looked very eager. Having a butler for a whole day, doing whatever he demanded? How in the world could he resist? Trying to hide his excitement, Ron composed himself and replied sternly, "Alright, Rhys, you're on. But before we start, I need a way to make sure I've got your word here. So we're gonna write it down in ink, like a contract.

"Fair enough."

Ron looked over his shoulder and hollered to his older brothers, the infamous twin tricksters, Fred and George Weasley. When they came over and Ron informed them off the gamble, both looked even more eager than what Ron was trying best to hide. So Fred got a scrap of parchment and George ink and a quill and the two began writing out the terms of the match. They managed to add a few more clauses to it as well; as well as the loser having to be butler, he was to be joined by five other students of the same house of the winner's choice. The exact duties of the butlers were anything from leisure to cleaning and were neither allowed to refuse or protest nor use any magic in their work. Also, to cover some missing details, the working hours of the butlers-for-a-day were the next day from 6 o'clock in the morning until half an hour before all students were to retire to bed.

Both Ron and Rhys wrote their signatures on the dotted lines in agreement with the terms and the match began. They were not even a quarter of away into the match when almost every student in the Great Hall got wind of the match and surrounded the table where the two were playing, which only raised the tension. The chess match itself lasted for about twenty-three minutes, with Fred and George hosting their own bets with the many of the surrounding students, driving Rhys' ire as he was not getting a slice of that for himself.

The chess match raged on, pawn against pawn, knight against knight, and all out for the king as this cataclysmic clash of the titans, this duel to the death, this battle of two of the most powerful – okay, you know what? Screw it! It's a bloody match of chess, for fuck's sake!

"Checkmate!"

It was over. Half the students in the Great Hall cheered and the other half shouted in protest and indignation at either the win or loss of their fellow house member or winning or losing their own trinkets during the minor bets during the match. The winners reaped their spoils and the losers begrudgingly handed over their gambled items.

Meanwhile, the biggest loser of all this, the one who lost the damn match, felt his lip quiver before slamming his head and banging his fist against the table. The winner was basking in his glowing glory as students from his house lifted him up like a trophy, tossing him up and down. Once they were done, the winner proclaimed the fellow students in the loser's house who were to join the latter in his day of butlery service, and he had quite a few particular choices.

Whilst the victor and his entourage sang their own garbled, _"Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey-ey, goodbye!"_ at him, the loser took the rolled up contracted and walked, his back hunched over, out of the Great Hall.

How was Rhys ever to explain this to Draco and the others?

* * *

Rhys wheezed loudly, his chest rising up and down continuously as he slid down the Dungeon Corridor, making his way towards the Slytherin Dungeon. In his large sweaty hands, he was still grasping that damned contract! He had no idea how he was to break this terrible news to his fellow unfortunate Slytherins. It was even worse considering that Ron Weasley's chosen roster was him (of course), Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Rhys and his family had themselves a comfortable spot on the Wizarding world's social ladder, but he was well aware of whom his superiors were. During all his years at Hogwarts, Rhys had done his very best to curry favour with them and it seldom worked, but now…Rhys would not have been over-exaggerating in thinking they were going to rip him limb from limb.

He clambered down the staircase at the end of the corridor, nearly tripping a couple of times, which lead down to the blank stone wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon. Rhys stopped there and took a moment to calm himself down, taking his own green silk handkerchief out from his robe and dabbing his forehead with it. After putting it back, Rhys stood up straight before the stone wall and pronounced firmly, shooting his arm out with a flat hand palm, "Abraca-heil!" The wall slid open and a passage was revealed leading to the Slytherin common room and Rhys entered with the wall slamming shut behind him once again.

The Slytherin common room was a low-ceilinged, dungeon-like room with greenish lamps, desks and chairs, extending partway under the lake. The common room had lots of low backed black and dark green leather sofas with buttons, skulls, and dark wood cupboards. It had quite a grand atmosphere, yet simultaneously quite a spooky, cold one as well.

Draco Malfoy and his girlfriend Pansy Parkinson were both sat down in one of the fat leather sofas; the latter dressed in her finest tight yet smooth Slytherin robes that clung to her porky frame and leaning on the former lazily. Draco was reading a book with a black cover that had no title engraved on it, whilst biting into one of the red apples that were found in a nearby black bowl. On Pansy's lap and stroking with her ring hand was her own black cat she affectionately named 'Morgan' after the historical dark witch Morgan le Fay, of whom the Parkinson family declared to be descendants. In her other hand was a thick glass of butter beer that she lapped up between intervals.

Blaise Zabini was sitting up straight at one of the desks, opening and reading a letter delivered by Owl post that morning. Crabbe and Goyle were busy paying off smarter Slytherins in their year so the two could copy their homework. The rest of the Slytherins were underway with their own business, mostly in small groups and keeping their conversations low, obviously not trusting of the other group in their own house.

Rhys walked into the common room, very few people taking notice of him. After spotting Draco sitting down with Pansy, he quickly hid the scroll that was still in his hand by pulling his robe over it. He approached the sofa and addressed Draco in a slightly obsequious manner, grasping the leather backrest tightly, "Ah, good morning, Draco. How's every little thing?"

However, Draco did not even look up at Rhys from his book and asked the Welsh wizard dryly, "What do you want, Jones?"

"Oh, n-n-nothing, Draco, a-absolutely nothing." Rhys assured his voice all over this place and he began adjusting his tie, a mannerism he possessed that either showed he was lying or nervous to the extreme. "I-I-I-I just decided to pop back here a-and well…just to give you a bit of news."

A lot of the Slytherins now turned their heads in his direction, taking a minor interest in this apparent important news. Pansy, who was now licking the inside of her still half full glass, looked up at Rhys and asked him, "Okay, so what kind of news are we talking about, Rhys?" She shrugged a bit indifferent. "I mean is it…room swaps, sick teachers or something like that?"

"No, nothing about the school or lessons. It's really more of a Slytherin–Gryffindor matter." The mere mention of the word "Gryffindor" received a chorus of hissing and booing from the crowd. "Yeah, yeah I know. Gryffindor sucks, I know." He added, motioning them to calm down.

"Okay, fine, it's about Gryffindor." Draco rubbed his temple with his index and middle finger. "But who is it good or bad for?" Before Rhys could respond, Draco raised his finger to stop him and quickly added, but still reading his book at the same time, "Oh, and Rhys, it really _better not_ be bad for us, because I really cannot stomach any more bad news this morning. I got a Howler from my father this morning and I have Professor Snape on my case about my marks in Potions class. So just to let you know, Rhys, if you have anything that will make me even more upset, you can expect me to bust that large _thing_ you call a nose."

The Welsh boy was now biting his lip hard enough that it burst with any more pressure and he gulped, preparing for the worst, "Well, Draco, it's not about the houses themselves." He strummed his head, trying to remember everyone who was on the 'roster'. "Frankly, it's about you, me, Pansy, Blaise and…Crabbe and Goyle. Yeah, I think that's right and I'm really, _really _sorry to tell you this but it's very bad."

3, 2, 1. The de-factor leader of Slytherin house slammed his black book shut and lobbed it over his shoulder, and it struck Rhys on his large nose, making the latter yell out in pain and cover it. He yelled out, making Pansy sit up straight, who almost spilt her butter beer and whose cat leaped off the sofa. "KNEW IT! Why did I even bother asking, right? Just another way for God to make fun of Draco Malfoy. **_Real funny!"_**

Still sitting at the desk, Blaise laid back in his chair and rubbed his synases. He then spoke, looking over at his Rhys, "Alright, Rhys, I have an idea. Perhaps if you tell us the bad news in a good way, it won't _sound_ so bad."

"Ummm..." Rhys thought about this carefully. "You want the bad news in a good way? I-I suppose I could do that…" He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. "Okay, here it goes..." After clearing his throat once more, he started laughing forcibly out loud. "Hahahahahaha! Wait 'till you all hear this. I was wiping the floor with Ron Weasley at Wizard's Chess, right? Hehehehehe! Well, we made this bet where if he beat me in a game of chess you lot and I would be their butlers for a day!" Rhys took the scroll contract out from his robes and opened it up to show them all. "An-an-and wouldn't you believe it? Hahahaha! _He beat me!"_ Of course, upon hearing this, the expressions on the Slytherins' faces quickly turned from amused to shocked. By now, Rhys had unintentionally become lost in an unstoppable fit of his own mad laughter. "So now, tomorrow, us six are going to serve as their butlers for the whole day! HA! HAAA!" Putting his elbow on the backrest, the student swatted his face and scoffed and spluttered, "We're in an awful lot of trouble now! **HAHAHAHAHAHA!"**

_Bang! _Rhys yelled out in horror as a bluish white light flashed before his eyes and he was sent flying into the dungeon stone wall, his body making a horrendous cracking sound. Blaise, the only Slytherin in the room to retain his composure, blew the tip of his wand and slid it back into his robe.

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**(A/N) So that's the first chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. I also hope you liked my Own Character (or OC), Rhys Ieuan Jones. Small not; I decided to make him Welsh since I myself am half-Welsh and damn proud of it, too. Well, now Rhys has landed his fellow Slytherins in hot water, what are they gonna do now? Hijinks WILL ensue, I can guarantee you that! **

**Please do read and review.**

**P.S. The "Abraca-heil!" line is from the Chester A. Bum review of Deathly Hallows Part One, regarding the Death Eaters.**


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N) Here is chapter two of the story, considerably shorter than the first, but it fully goes into the aftermath of Rhys' mistake. Also, sorry it has taken a week, I've just had a lot of school work occupying most of my time. You know how it is. Please do enjoy.**

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**Chapter Two**

"Professor, you cannot condone this!" Draco protested furiously, putting his claw like hands on his potion master's desk. He, Rhys and the remaining four butlers-for-a-day Slytherins were standing in office of their house head in the dungeons, Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house. Crabbe and Goyle were keeping Rhys from escaping by grasping him by the shoulders, while Pansy Parkinson was red in the face and squealing furiously about how she would not dare serve the Gryffindors, carrying out domestic jobs like some common _house elf!_ Zabini, as usual, was the only one who appeared calm and self-restrained, keeping his arms crossed. "I mean, come on! Surely this "contract" has no legal authority, especially as it was written by those _Weasleys?"_

Professor Snape was sitting behind his desk, dressed in his near-uniform black robes and reading the contract with the aid of a magnifying glass. It was necessary for Fred and George Weasley's woeful handwriting. When the Slytherins first came barging into his office and forced Rhys to explain his disgrace of the house to him, the feared potions master seldom said a word and was right now completely silent as he scanned through the piece of parchment without a single emotion or reflex on his face.

Finally finished reading, Snape set the contract down on his desk and looked up stonily at Rhys, whom was looking down and hid his hands behind his back in shame. "Well then, Jones…what exactly do you have to say for yourself on this _fiasco?"_ Although Snape's voice was as usual dark, low and droning, the emphasis on his last word showed a tinge of emotion, namely anger.

Like the majority of students at Hogwarts, Slytherins included (he himself being one), Rhys feared Professor Snape and was reduced to a flobberworm in his presence. Snape was hardly a type of person whose favour he could win. Habitually biting down on his lip, Rhys nervously explained himself, shuffling his feet, "Umm, I-I apologize for all th-this, Professor. It…it was a large mistake on _my_ part." Of course, Rhys was choosing his words carefully, admitting most of his mistake right away so that maybe he would not pay full witness to Snape's wrath. "Though you must understand, sir, W-Weasley, he…he goaded me on. It was not meant to be taken seriously. And after all, I was winning in most of the matches beforehand, s-so I presumed-"

"That will be enough!" Snape ordered firmly, standing up from his desk and Rhys fell silent immediately. "So you_ "presumed"_, did you? Are you not aware of Weasley's exploits in your first year, Jones? It is obvious that he has outwitted you; losing the matches on purpose to lure you into a false state of self-confidence so to trick you into wagering something of greater value!" He walked slowly around his desk, hands behind his back and his expression still that of stone. "This time, it would seem your overconfidence has not only been _your_ downfall, but your _peers_ as well!"

Draco now looked at his head of house hopefully and asked him, "So…we won't have to do as the contract says, Professor?"

Back turned to them, Snape replied slowly, "On the contrary, Mr Malfoy…" The six Slytherins froze in place at those words. "I will admit that this is an unfortunate turn of events. However, let us not forget that we are of Slytherin house; a house of integrity and accept our victories with grace, and we also accept our _defeats_ with grace, no matter what the cost may be._"_ Snape spun around to face them with a glaring look. "Therefore, you shall _all_ accept the terms of this agreement and thus _will_ commit yourselves to Gryffindor house's service tomorrow."

None of the Slytherins were expecting that. Pansy Parkinson gawked, looking as if she was about to have a cardiac arrest. Crabbe and Goyle's jaws dropped and they released their grip on Rhys, whom was trembling violently and chomping onto his thick fingernails. For the first time, Blaise seemed for the first time to lose his composure as his crossed arms loosened and eyes widened. Draco's upper lip was twitching, reaching up to his nose and he spluttered, trying his best to articulate himself to Snape, "B-B-But Professor…you honestly cannot-!"

"I can and will, Malfoy!" Snape retorted curtly, walking up to Draco with a menacing look that made him cower. "You, in particular, may consider this a fitting punishment for your recent falling behind in potions!" Draco did not try to argue and the professor marched back to behind his desk, heading for his chair. "All of you will wake up at 6 o'clock in the morning and begin your work, doing so according to this contract." He held up the contract to them to emphasise his point. "Hence, you are not allowed to refuse or protest any of their orders, and you shall hand over your wands to them before you being work. You service will be complete a half hour before bed." Snape set the contract down and leaned forward, giving them a look that could have killed them five times over. "Now do I make myself clear to you all, or must I repeat?"

The Slytherin students, most of them not sure how to respond to that question, either nodded or shook their heads. Blaise spoke up to confirm on their behalf, "We understand, Professor."

"Good. Then you are all dismissed." Snape told them, rolling up the parchment and holding it forward for Blaise to take it, which he did. The Slytherins did as they were told and all proceeded to slither their way out of the office, their heads hung low in further shame. Rhys was the last one to leave when Snape addressed him one last time, making him stop, "Oh, and one more thing, Mr Jones."

Rhys turned around to look back at him, shuddering in fear and said, "Yes, sir?"

"See to it tonight that you keep yourself up to school code and shave."

Very briefly, Rhys darted his eyes down at the beard that was starting to form on his face. He was about to feel the bristles with his hand but immediately turned his attention back to Snape and told him in a respective manner, "Yes, sir, of course, sir." With that, he then backed out of the office and closed the door silently behind him. He thought to himself and the door shut behind him, _'Oh, God, I'm totally screwed."_

* * *

Poor Rhys Ieuan Jones had had a rough day. Once outside Snape's office, Draco and his gang shoved Rhys up against the dungeon wall, their wands pressed against his hairy face. That look in Draco's eyes convinced the young Welshman that he was that close to using the Cruciatus curse on him. They let him go, thank God, telling him he was not worth it and that they would make him suffer some other time.

Rhys tried his best to focus on his schoolwork during his lessons that day, yet his mind always managed to trail off to thoughts of what Draco and his henchmen were going to do to him when this was all over. Actually, even worse, what was Pansy going to do him? Draco was menacing definitely, but Rhys had upset Pansy once before and he still had nightmares of her last inhuman rampage of burning wra-

"Mr Jones, are you quite sure you are paying attention?" The shrill voice of Professor Flitwick rang in his ears and he immediately came back to earth.

"Y-Yes, Professor." Rhys stuttered, blinking a few times and nodding to the stern Professor. Half-convinced, the half-Goblin wizard rolled his eyes slightly and went back to teaching the lesson. Rhys shook his head a bit and once again tried to focus on his work, looking down at his open book and jotting down notes with his quill as Flitwick continued to lecture the class. He mumbled to himself, "Bloody half-breed..."

"What was that?"

He ducked his head, picking up his book and hiding behind it. "Nothing, sir. I just sneazed."

* * *

That night, a short while before he was going to retire, Rhys was alone in one of the boys' restrooms. He stood before one of the mirror with his green and silver tie undone and shirt collar unbuttoned. He had covered his face with shaving cream and was holding a straight razor in one hand. Just as Snape had suggested, or rather ordered, Rhys was having a shave, something he had not done in quite a while.

Steadying his shaking hand, Rhys now ran the blade smoothly against his right cheek, slicing off the bristles and exposing his still rough skin that was caused by the cold weather. He took a moment to inspect his work so far in the mirror, when slowly, he began to see a face bulging in the mirror…but it was not _his _face…

"BOO!"

Rhys screamed and jumped back, and Peeves the Poltergeist flew out from the mirror, squealing merrily in a pitch that could have punctures you eardrums. He grabbed his translucent sides and rolled about in mid-air, whilst Rhys regained his breath and glared up at the tormenting little spirit.

"Peeves! Please! I am in no mood for you tonight!"

"_Hahahahahaha! Little Jonesy lost his little bet, now has to make the Gryffindors' beds!"_ Peeves mocked him in own of his on-the-spot songs and hovered throughout the room. _"I've been listening in around the school, Taffy! Everyone is talking about it!"_

Choosing to ignore him, Rhys turned his attention back to the mirror and held the razor up once more to continue his shaving. Peeves was the last thing he needed right now. "I've noticed, Peeves. I'm not deaf…" He muttered bitterly, running the blade up the front of his throat.

"_Ooooh, but the best stuff I've heard today is what I heard them say in the Slytherin Dungeon! Hahahahahaha!" _Peeves giggled, sitting down next to one of the bathroom gargoyles._ "Your name is "Mud" there now! Oh, in fact, I heard Theodore Nott telling Millicent Bulstrode that if Malfoy doesn't kill you, __**he**__ will! Hoo-hoo!"_

That last remark filled Rhys with fear. Pure, concentrated fear. He was essentially a dead man walking in the Hogwarts halls. Worst of all, he had fallen from grace amongst his peers, being looked down upon like worm-ridden filth.

"I swear, Peeves, if all you're here for is to make fun of me—"

Peeves head pricked up and he cut Rhys off in mid-sentence, saying as he flew down near to him, _"Actually, no, sheep lover. I was actually sent to find you by Mr Goyle."_

"What does he want?"

_"Simply, he wants to know what suit you want to be buried in! I personally think something red and purple will do. After all, it'll match your head after tomorrow! Bwahahahahahaha!"_

Having had enough, Rhys took his blade and tossed it at the poltergeist. It was absolutely pointless. It went straight through Peeves and clinked against the stone wall. Peeves just laughed even harder. Frustrated further, Rhys unplugged the sink, letting the contents swirl down the drain, and then wiped the cream off his face with the nearby towel before storming out of the restroom. His face was shaved enough for people not to notice. All the while, Peeves guffawed and wheezed uncontrollably, lowering himself down through the stone floor and out of the room.

* * *

By the time Jones had retired to the Slytherin dungeon, many of his peers had already retired themselves, with the exception of the few older students who made sure to mock him as he walked by and towards the boys' dormitory. To his further luck, most of the Slytherin boys had fallen asleep by the time he arrived there. He slid into his night robes, drank a whole pitcher of soothing butter beer and tucked himself into his four poster bed.

He did not sleep well that night. Yes, he felt a sense of relief being snuggled up tight in his soft bed, but guilt and fear soon drowned relief faster than the butter beer could make him forget. What else could he do but wait for tomorrow at 6 o'clock and use what would have been he and his comrades' day off to be at their worst enemies' beck and call. Rhys could only pray to his God that as courageous and self-righteous the Gryffindors were, they also held at least a flicker of mercy…because the Slytherings sure as Hell did not.

Oh God, I pity this poor fool, I really do.

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**(A/N) Okay, so that's chapter two. Now don't worry, the real buttlering begins in the next chapter. That's where things get _really _funny. Please do read and review.**


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